


Five Different Directions

by linettispaghetticonfetti



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode: s06e12 Casecation, Established Relationship, F/M, and did not feel satisfying at all!, cAsEcAtIoN wAs rIdDlEd with pLOT hOlEsssss, hi i'm new and i was inspired to write this because, jean-ralphio voice, so here i am, so much hurt!jake i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linettispaghetticonfetti/pseuds/linettispaghetticonfetti
Summary: “...start over? Like with someone else?”Pause. There is no one there to ease the tension. There is no one there but the comatose mobster who definitely has no thoughts to contribute to this climax in the argument.At this point, Amy--logical, headstrong, stubborn Amy--sees this going one of two ways.At this point, Jake--panicked by the unusually serious demeanor of his wife’s threat--sees two simultaneous scenarios. Each one he hates more than the next.That’s not true. He sees three, and he likes the first one, but the first also seems the most unrealistic.(Or, if Terry and Rosa never interrupted Jake and Amy's conversation in the hospital room that afternoon and the couple actually dealt with their feelings.)





	1. Some Messed Up Stuff is Said

_ “You’re still young; we have plenty of time!”  _

_ “I know, but I don’t want to wait around for two years and then you decide you don’t want kids because I don’t want to start over at 38! _

_ “...start over? Like with someone else?” _

Pause. At this moment, Amy realizes she has said something--for lack of a better word-- _ fucked up _ . At this moment, Jake is--with the exact word to describes his state-- _ fucked up _ . 

There is no one there to ease the tension. There is no one there but the comatose mobster who definitely has no thoughts to contribute to this climax in the argument. 

Amy begins to stutter. Avoiding eye contact, failing to let her husband’s attempt at lightheartedness stick, shifting her weight and messing with her hair hoping  _ someone _ walks through that door soon.

Jake, who is a  _ goddamn detective _ , knows when his wife is serious. But my god, never this serious. Feeling a sudden weight in his chest about how  _ honest _ she has just been  _ (is she really going to leave him? Is she only with him to have kids?) _ , he lets his face fall, the muscles relaxing until his face is dark. He wants to match the tone of this insidious threat his wife has just made, but all he can exude is hurt. So instead, his voice gets low and soft. “No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?”

At this point, Amy--logical, headstrong, stubborn Amy--sees this going one of two ways. 

At this point, Jake--panicked by the unusually serious demeanor of his wife’s threat--sees two simultaneous scenarios. Each one he hates more than the next.

That’s not true. He sees three, and he likes the first one, but the first also seems the most unrealistic.


	2. Amy's Eggs and a Blinding Time Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first hypothetical scenario Amy sees is...alright. But she has a not-so-fun realization about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I GOT TOO EXCITED SO I'M POSTING THE NEXT CHAPTER ALREADY SHOULD I POST SLOWER OR ALL AT ONCE IDK 
> 
> I haven't written fic in...so long. Thank you for the kudos and comments because they really mean the world to me:') (although as this story progresses it gets SIGNIFICANTLY more evil I'm sorry)

_“No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?”_

Amy averts her gaze, gasping like pumping more oxygen into her lungs might give her the wisdom to see what to do here.

_This is the first way Amy sees this going._

“Jake, I went to the doctor yesterday.”

She can already see the fear in his eyes.

“No no no, I’m not--at least--” Even in her hypotheticals, she can’t seem to deliver bad news to her adoring sunshine of a husband. 

She sighs, looking up at his soft and worried eyes. Even when he’s hurt, he is so gentle. “Jake. I went to the gynecologist.”

“The…?”

“Lady doctor, I went to the lady doctor,” she clarifies. “And I took a test to see how many eggs I have left. Like, how long could I wait until having kids, y’know? So I could plan the life calendar accordingly. And…”

Jake purses his lips. Which only makes Amy feel more mournful. “Jake, I only have about four years worth of eggs left. After that, I’m essentially infertile.”

Amy’s eyes begin to water as she hears these horrible words come out of her own mouth. Jake places his right hand on her cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “Babe, I  _ promise _ you, I will be ready to have children in the next four years. And I’m sorry that I’m caught up in my own stuff but I guess I never realized that there was a clock but now that I see that I guess--”

“No, babe! You are not in the wrong here, okay? Not now, not ever.” And by god, she means it. “Your feelings here are valid too. And I know with your history you’re scared of being a dad but I  _ know _ you, Jake Peralta, and I know you will be the best dad this world has ever seen. You are the most loving man I’ve ever known, and you are the only person I want to be the father of my children. I know you’re scared and frankly I’m scared too. But right in this moment? All I want is a freakin’ Peralta baby in me. Maybe not _right_ this moment, but at least soon. Alright?”

“Alright,” he sighs. “But...you still haven’t answered my question. If I really did say no to having kids, would you leave me?”

She stares into his eyes and tries to formulate some sort of answer--the truth, ideally--but she just can’t do it.

_ No? Maybe? Check back in a bit? _

Because truth be told, this was new territory for Amy. And she has always been so driven by logic and common sense that these decisions based entirely on feelings and emotions made her feel like a robot here. Like some sort of baby-fevered, calendar-driven robot.

_ Was that what she was? A totally apathetic robot? _


	3. Amy and Charles and the Honesty Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Scenario #2, in which Amy says more things she almost immediately regrets.

_ “No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?” _

_This is the second (and probably worse) way Amy sees this conversation going._

“Jake, I don’t just want kids, I want  _ your  _ kids!” Amy exclaims. “The genes of two detective-slash-geniuses would be unstoppable. And yes, you would probably have to take a little more time off work but--”

“ _ I  _ would? Is my job less important than yours?” Jake scoffs. He takes a step back. “Look, I have  _ always _ supported you, alright? I supported you when you wanted to take the sergeant’s exam, I supported you when you wanted me to buy a several-thousand dollar mattress that we ultimately ended up putting in storage because hey! You wanted us to move to  _ your  _ apartment--”

“Because my apartment is better!” Amy's voice is heightening by the second.

“Exactly! All of your ideas are ‘always better--’” He's edging closer to her and flailing his arms.

“I’m sorry, but I think we both know that you’ve never exactly been the king of adulthood--”

“Excuse me? Why do you insist on having some sort of upper hand on me, Ames--?”

“Because before you met me, you were a goddamn child!”

Jake’s furrowed brow is suddenly raised. What once was anger on his face is suddenly calm.

Or hurt? Or even further anger? Or some sort of internal clarity? She can’t even read him. All she knows is that his expression is eerily, eerily cryptic.

If she thought she was screwed earlier, she sure as hell knew it for a fact now.

He waits for a moment before speaking, letting the echo of what she just said ring out just a little more. His voice is even and calculated. “Sergeant Santiago, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave this hospital room.”

Her brow furrows. “What?! Jake, you can’t just--”

“I’m sorry, but I can. I’m the lead detective on this case and I don’t want any additional distractions or liabilities involved while I’m working. Now please, leave.” He points to the door. She walks slowly towards it, opens it just a crack, and turns to look at her husband. Her eyes are watering.

“I love you.”

Jake sighs. He licks his lips as if to stifle some other thought from coming out of them. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

But he doesn’t come home that night. Or the next. Holt says he has just been staying at the hospital room with the patient. But after week two, Charles finally cracks and reveals that Jake has been staying at his place for the last six days.

She goes to see him later that night. She knocks with fervor until Genevieve answers the door.

“Hi, I’m looking for my husband.”

Jake pokes his head out from the kitchen. He looks like he hasn't groomed himself for days with his unkempt curls and patchy beard. He rolls his eyes as he walks to the door. “Please, come in.”

Amy prepares to start arguing in the living room, Nikolaj playing on the ground with his toys and all, when Charles runs in to cover Nikolaj’s ears. “Remember, adults yelling in front of children sets a bad example and could psychologically damage them later in life!”

“Perfect! Thank you for teeing that conversation up for us, buddy,” Jake says dryly.

“Anytime, Jakey,” Charles says (not dryly at all). “But hey, feel free to use the guest room. It’s super sound proof. Genevieve and I use it all the time to have sex when Nikolaj is sleeping!”

Jake scrunches his face. “You didn’t cover his ears for  _ that _ ?”

“We’ve instituted an honesty policy in this household. Studies show that if you expose your child to ‘the talk’ earlier, they will have less discomfort with their own bodies later!”

Amy loudly groans. 

“Charles, for the love of God, please stop talking!!” Jake shouts. “Should we go to the guest room?”

The guest room was once clearly Genevieve’s craft room, because it is largely filled with cloth and paints and sewing materials, spare the twin mattress and ruffled-through suitcase on the floor.

“Care to sit down?” Jake asks, gesturing toward the sad looking mattress. She obliges. “Look, before you start I just want to apologize. Me leaving was childish and...I guess that’s the point. I’m nearly forty and I still act like a child. I don’t take off my shoes when I enter the house with mud; I only do my laundry once a month unless prompted; I leave when things get bad. You don’t deserve that, Ames. No  _ child _ deserves that. That’s why I’m so scared.”

Amy looks down at her work boots, nodding. Jake looks at Amy with his vulnerable brown eyes. “So, uh, what did you come here to tell me exactly?”

Amy exhales sharply and reaches for his hands. “That I miss you. That I want you to come back home. Because I  _ love  _ you, Jake. And your childishness doesn’t scare me because I think it’s something we can work on, together.”

She can see his brain processing something, until it finally fully loads and he releases a short scoff. “Wait, you didn’t come here to apologize? For seeing me as lesser than you?”

She feels his hand releasing from hers. She tries to grab it again desperately. “No, Jake, please that’s not--”

He stands up. “You totally didn’t! You really did expect to just give me some time, then eventually I would ‘come to my senses’ and apologize like I always do, huh? Because I’m always the one in the wrong?”

Jake is pacing, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. She is completely frozen to her seat. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

He finally stops pacing as he looks directly into her eyes. “No, I don’t, Amy. And that’s what scares the hell out of me.” 

She feels tears welling in her eyes. She tries to stop the tremor she feels in her voice by clearing her throat. “So what do you want to know?”

“I want an answer to my very first question. Would you really leave me if I didn’t give you the kids you wanted?”

She can’t bring herself to answer. 

Jake smirks, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “You know, maybe I’m not afraid of having kids because of me. Maybe it’s because of you.”

Pause. “What does that mean?”

“I  _ mean _ , you clearly saw this being a situation where I didn’t want kids and then I magically would! And then once we did have kids I would magically take off work so you could pursue your dream career  _ and  _ your dream home life while all of my dreams are left in the dust! All so  _ you  _ could have it all, right?”

“You know that phrase is sexist--”

“It’s not a gender thing, babe, it’s a  _ you  _ thing. Can you really promise me that deep down, that  _ wasn’t _ what you really dreamed of? Of me blindly following all of your big life plans without any opposition?”

Again, no answer comes from her lips. Because in truth, he was probably right, and she would probably admit that, and he would probably utter the word “divorce,” which she couldn’t even bear to think about, and she would be miserable.

All because she couldn’t compromise to save her life.

Or to save her marriage, for that matter.


	4. Everything is Great!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake's first scenario. Definitely not going to happen though. (At least, not anymore).

_ “No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?” _

_ There is of course option #1 for Jake: the one he really likes. _

In which Jake says no to having kids and his wife is super cool with it! He never has to worry about ruining the life of a child! And he gets to live his life with his super cool wife and adventure and be a badass detective and grow old without extra strings with the only person he’s ever been so sure about keeping in his life.

No kids, no trauma, no problem.

It wasn’t a super detailed plan, not one with a lot of “next steps” or hypothetical conversations, but frankly, that was the wave he had been riding on for a few years up to this point. But now? That’s a pipe dream, and the (hypothetical) realities are far, far worse.


	5. Jake and R.E.M.'s "Orange Crush"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a recurring memory that Jake has been having since he started therapy, loosely involving his parents and R.E.M.'s "Orange Crush." But now that he's standing here in the hospital, the nightmare has morphed itself into something far worse. This is the second way Jake sees things going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is so mean i'm sorry

_ “No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?” _

_This is the second way Jake sees this going._

Amy looks at him, begging to get out of answering such a question. She just  _ wants _ this one answer out of him. “Well, what do  _ you  _ want?”

The problem is that with all of this new therapy stuff, all of his daddy issues feel  _ so  _ raw. Every night up to this point, it’s the same nightmare:

Wherein Jake sees his old childhood bedroom from 1988. He’s seven years old and ever since he was bad at school and had to have a “family talk” (or whatever) three weeks ago, his parents have been fighting. Fighting, breaking dishes, slamming doors. About a week into this cycle, his mom buys him a cassette tape of R.E.M.’s  _ Green _ , so he can listen to music instead of “hearing mommy and daddy talk.” So whenever he started to hear his mother yell about “that other slut” or his father threaten to break one of Mom’s vases, he would listen to “Orange Crush,” over and over again. And he would turn it up just loud enough so the yelling was muffled to where all he could hear was 

“Why can’t you ever--”

_ I've got my spine, I've got my orange crush _

“Don’t you dare blame this on--”

_ (Collar me, don't collar me) _

_ I've got my spine, I've got my orange crush _

“--I’ll do it!”

_ (We are agents of the free) _

“I swear to God--”

_ I've had my fun and now it's time _

_ To serve your conscience overseas (over me, not over me) _

_ Coming in fast, over me _

This haunting memory is the reason that the one time Amy played “Orange Crush” in the car and started singing along, he began shaking. But at this point, that’s neither here nor there.

Because as they stand there in that hospital room, talking about their own potential kids, he can see the nightmare right in front of him. And this time it is far, far worse.

He can still hear “Orange Crush” playing somewhere faintly in the background, but still just enough to make his heart rate surge. He sees a little boy standing in their hospital room, probably seven years old. Curly hair like Jake’s--the poor soul seems to have his nose, too--but his skin is a light caramel and his hair is jet black. Standing next to him is a little girl, maybe four, virtually a carbon copy of Amy but short brown hair and dimples.

_ Oh my god _ ,  _ these are his kids.  _

“Daddy, where are you going?”

Jake can barely process the words the boy utters before noticing the figure standing at the doorway. 

The man, whom Jake now recognizes to be himself but a few years older (oh no, is he really going to gray that fast?), kneels down to his son’s height. He puts his hand gently on the child’s head. “Daddy has to go away, for a bit. For work.”

“Are you going...und’r..und’r-cupboard again, Daddy?” The four-year-old chimes in.

“Or is it another safe house mission where you’ll be gone for  _ another  _ one of my piano recitals?” A deeper voice. It’s the boy again, but this time he’s thirteen.

“Will you even have time to teach me how to drive? Or will you be pulling double-shifts for three months straight,  _ again _ ?” The girl is sixteen now.

“Dad, are you gonna be in witness protection when I graduate?” He’s seventeen.

“Dad, will you even be alive to walk me down the aisle when I get married? Or will your job have finally caught up with you by then?” She’s thirty.

They seem to be growing up so fast and he can’t seem to keep up but their questions are so valid and real and--

_ “Jake!” _

It’s his wife. His physical, present-day wife. His talented, beautiful--

“So what’s it gonna be?”

_ Shit _ . 

They’re standing in the hospital. And he knows there is a real question at hand but all he can think about is the questions that run through his brain and convince him that he will never be a worthy father.

“Well?” Her eyes are desperately seeking an answer, seeking any sort of hope that he’s changed. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” He finally musters. He can’t even bear looking into her eyes because staring into them burns him like staring into the sun, so he averts his gaze as he feels his eyes begin to water.

Her eyebrows soften and she purses her lips. “Okay. If you don’t want kids, then I can’t force you I guess.”

He doesn’t want to think about those next details. Frankly they’re fuzzy and all he sees is flashes of him reverting back to his old self. Eating MayoNuts spoonsies alone on Thanksgiving, spending every second at the precinct because that’s the only joy he knows, taking on the riskier missions because his co-workers now all have families to think about.

But not him.

What he can see clearly is Amy rising through the ranks. He does see Amy giving back her ring. He does see her getting back together with Teddy.

“Really, Ames? Teddy?”

It’s been two years since the divorce. Two weeks since the engagement. Amy sets a manilla folder down on a box in the evidence lockup. He looks ragged and tired next to her, with his untamed brown curls that are flecked with gray and the same leather jacket he’s worn for years, but now with more holes and patches. Meanwhile, her hair is bob-length now, her white lieutenant uniform crisp and neat. The ring on her finger sparkles so much under the fluorescent lights that it blinds him, taunts him, screams at him. Her expression is so confident and firm and it scares the hell out of him.

“Look, I wanted kids, Jake. I told you that. You always knew that. Why couldn’t you just trust in  _ us  _ enough to take that leap?”

Why did he refuse so heavily to trust what they had? Because in this reality, he had played it safe. He stuck to what he knew.

And somehow, he still lost.


	6. Jake and Amy Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ames.”
> 
> She turns back to look at him, hand still on the doorknob.
> 
> He drinks in every inch of her. Of her lieutenant uniform, of her silky dark hair, of her dark brown eyes.
> 
> “I love you.”
> 
> She stands there for a moment, almost reciprocating what her lips clearly would not let her say. She exits.
> 
> “Dammit, dammit,” he whispers to himself. He rubs his hands against his face, hoping to wipe away this god-awful feeling.
> 
> And it’s the last time Jake Peralta sees Amy Santiago.
> 
> (Jake's third and final scenario.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by Celeste and Jesse Forever.
> 
> I got too carried away with this one oh boy

_“No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?”_

_This is the third--and by far the worst--way Jake sees this going._

Amy sighs, letting her guard down and relaxing all of her muscles. “No, you’re right. I can’t push you into this. You have a lot on your plate as it is and we can wait. Until you’re ready.”

He smiles, lightly wrapping his hands around her wrists as she caresses his cheek.

But days slip into weeks, weeks slip into years. Because he just doesn’t want to think about having to share Amy-- _his_ Amy--with someone else. He wants her to himself.

So that’s what they do. They go to that waterpark together; they take a month long vacation to Europe together; they solve cases and go through near-death experiences, together. But even though they make so many memories together--like when they meets Bruce Willis for Jake’s birthday, or when they go fishing and accidentally tip over the canoe, or when they solve a cold case together that ultimately wins them both awards--he can tell something is still off. Their rhythm as a couple is usually fast, upbeat, steady. But it becomes syncopated every once in awhile. Like when Terry mentions the twins winning their first soccer game, and Amy suddenly shifts her weight and picks at her clothes. Or when Charles tells Jake about Nikolaj writing a story in class about his dad, and Jake suddenly feels hollow inside. Or when Gina announces that she’s pregnant again and Amy disappears for an hour, only to be found at her six-drink stage in the bathroom.

Yes, something does feel missing in their lives. And he knows that it isn’t the kids that complete a marriage, but completing that conversation at the hospital certainly would have. And god, wouldn’t it be nice to see little Judeo-Cuban kids running around their house, building pillow forts in the living room and winning soccer games and writing stories about how great their parents were?

But that’s exactly it. He isn’t sure he would be a great parent. Hell, he isn’t sure he would even be an _okay_ parent.

So he buries, buries, buries those feelings out of fear, until finally, he can’t take it any longer.

The year is 2022 when Jake finally, _finally_ agrees to go take a fertility test with Amy. When he says those words to her, her face lights up the room like when your phone gets a notification in the middle of the night. There might even be tears in her eyes when he says those words.

Either way, there are definitely tears when they get the fertility test results. The doctor comes into the room, raising both eyebrows gently and smiling with her lips pressed tightly together. She says something about Amy’s AMH levels being low, especially for her age, and how all this considered this would make her an unlikely candidate for IVF treatments, which…

Jake can’t focus on that. All he can see is the love of his life looking like she has been shot directly in the heart. These words have pierced her skin, lodged themselves fully in her chest, and now she was bleeding anguish and loss and devastation. Her whole body gushes with these powerful emotions and he can feel every single one of them slick against his hands as he holds her. And finally, he understands.

Just three years too late.

All Amy can do when they get home is go to bed. She lays in bed and cries and sleeps and he has no idea what the hell to do.

_Is there anything he can do at this point?_

He tries, at the very least. He walks slowly into their bedroom and sits at the foot of the bed where she is still very clearly awake buried under the covers, staring out into nothing.

He reaches for a piece of her hair. She tenses. “Hey...there are still other options, y’know. Surrogates, adoption. There are still ways to have kids, babe.”

She jolts up suddenly and looks directly into his eyes for the first time in three hours. “I don’t _want_ those options, Jake. I want my own child, _our_ own child.”

Jake frowns, looking away from her piercing gaze.

“Can’t you see that that’s all I really wanted? Yes, I love my job and I am so happy that I have gotten to rise through the ranks the way I have. I’ve enjoyed all the trips we’ve taken and the memories we’ve made but God, Jake, I missed out on that feeling of carrying your own child inside you for nine months. Of watching them grow and change inside your belly. Of building a nursery. Of being at the hospital and watching as they carry a baby-- _your baby_ \--to your arms. Of seeing you right next to me in that moment? And understanding how perfect everything was just then?”

“Ames, I--”

“We missed out on fighting about whether or not they had your nose or my eyes. We missed out on name books and first days of school and carpools and soccer games. We missed out on the growing up and the first crushes and the school dances and the graduations and the life lessons. God, Jake, I missed out on creating new life, on building a life, on _life_.”

And suddenly he can feel that metaphorical bullet pierce his chest too, but this time it’s laced with the disappointment he has so clearly caused his wife. It’s searing and numb, hollow and heavy, all at once.

He forces himself to speak. “Ames, do you...do you blame me?”

He watches her intently, desperately, as she sits there thinking. She bites her bottom lip slowly, glances down, then flicks her eyes back up. “No. I blame myself for thinking you would change on your own.”

She nestles herself under the covers again as she mutters, “I think you should sleep on the couch tonight.”

And so he does. And he does for several nights. And when they finally do sleep in the same bed again, nothing is the same. One night he puts socks on her cold feet again, but by morning he sees that she has kicked them off. When her alarm goes off early in the morning, she doesn’t wake him up to give him a kiss goodbye anymore. She doesn’t ask him to bring her a turkey sandwich for lunch anymore. Their once harmonious rhythm is now syncopated and dissonant and confusing.

And it’s not as though she’s not trying. Jake knows that Amy loves him, but whenever they take a step forward in rebuilding--solving a case, going out to trivia nights at the bar, teaching Jake how to cook anything more than a hardboiled egg--it’s always two steps back whenever Terry or Charles or Gina mention their wonderful kids, or the joys of parenthood.

The days blur together until January 8th, 2024 and Amy tells him--

“I want a divorce.”

At this point, he doesn’t even try to fight it. He hasn’t been bold any other time in his marriage, why start now?

So they get divorced, and Jake moves out of the apartment, and Amy officially moves her desk to the bottom floor.

But weirdly enough, it’s Jake who moves on first. He meets a woman on his floor in his new apartment complex. She’s younger at 32 years old (note that he pegs himself at around 44), but she’s funny and beautiful and smart as a whip and is looking to move this relationship forward and fast.

Which leads to some not-so-fun conversations.

It’s September 2025. Jake goes to Amy’s desk downstairs.

“Can we talk? Like, in private somewhere?”

Amy’s voice cracks as Jake delivers the news to her in the evidence lockup. He can see the color draining from her body and her hands instinctively picking at her clothes. It hurts him to hurt her like this, _again._

“You’re...you’re having a baby?”

“I just wanted to tell you before you inevitably heard it from Charles,” he explains softly. “I thought you deserved to know.”

There’s a deafening silence. Amy stands there, mouth agape, sounds occasionally erupting from her throat. Finally, she mechanically lifts her head to look at him and musters,

“So uh, when is your wife due?”

Jake nods. “April. She’s due in April. Uh, it's a girl.”

“Have you...decided on a name yet?” She’s so clearly trying to be happy for him, so desperately attempting to stay friends and connect with him again.

“Not yet, but I have a couple ideas,” Jake answers.

Another silence. Finally interrupted by

“Are you happy? With her? With this future family?”

Jake tightens his grip on the wallet in his pocket, which contains the first sonogram they saw of their daughter. In any other moment, he would be grinning ear-to-ear and bragging about it to no end. But in this moment, he just can’t bring himself to do it. He feels this paradoxical mix of overwhelming joy and crushing sadness. The air around them is heavy with their past and their present and their rocky future and they’re both choking on it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Jake admits, clearing his throat.

Amy smiles but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “Well then I’m happy for you. Excuse me.”

She heads toward the door.

“Ames.”

She turns back to look at him, hand still on the doorknob.

He drinks in every inch of her. Of her lieutenant uniform, of her silky dark hair, of her dark brown eyes.

“I love you.”

She stands there for a moment, almost reciprocating what her lips clearly would not let her say. She exits.

“Dammit, dammit,” he whispers to himself. He rubs his hands against his face, hoping to wipe away this god-awful feeling.

And it’s the last time Jake Peralta sees Amy Santiago.

\--------------------

Jake’s daughter is born on April 28, 2026, exactly nine years after he decided he wanted to marry

Amy. That’s their daughter’s name.

“Such a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl,” his wife smiles. “Amy Die-Hard Peralta.”

(Okay, not _everything_ in his hypothetical has to be horribly depressing.)

He doesn’t really hear from the other Amy after that. But he is just so in love with this new life that he has brought into the world that that fact kind of slips away from him. Because as it turns out, he is a _kickass_ father. He looks into this little girl’s eyes and wants to give her everything he has from the minute she’s born. He takes more time off work to stay at home and change diapers and paint animals on the walls of her nursery. He coaches her first-grade soccer team. He speaks at her third-grade career day, where he is introduced by little Amy as “the smartest, bestest detective slash genius the world has ever seen!!”

He scrunches his brow and turns to look at her incredulously. They hadn’t done a Halloween heist at the precinct in years. In fact, he doesn’t even think he has mentioned those heists to his daughter, much less the phrase “detective slash genius.”

It’s moments like this where he _swears_ in some part of her DNA lies Amy Santiago. Sure, his current wife is caring and open and intelligent, but their daughter has this unbelievable drive and sharp wit and lust for organization that can only be explained by Santiago blood.

It’s moment like this where he realizes that he is not happy.

But Amy Santiago is untraceable now. She’s changed her phone number; she’s gotten remarried; she lives in California now, last he heard.

“Charles, I fucked up.”

Jake is three beers in at Shaw’s. His salt-and-pepper curls are matted against his face, casting additional shadows against his hollow figure. Charles, looking impressively youthful for 63 with his neatly combed dark hair (that is beginning to thin) and a nicely fitted long-sleeve button-up, sits next to him drinking soda water.

“How so, Jakey?”

Jake slams his glass against the dark oak bar as if to demand more. “I married Santiago and I told her I didn’t want kids. I wanted to be selfish and have her all to myself. Then I finally got what I thought I wanted and ended up screwing it all up, and then she left me. So then I got married again and told her I _did_ want kids because I wanted to share her with someone else. I finally got what I wanted then and somehow I’m still not happy about it.”

Charles leans in closer, speaking mildly. “Jake, you realize what the pattern here is?”

Jake deadpans. “Charles, I’m three beers in and have barbecue sauce spilled all over the only shirt I own at age 53. Of course I don’t see the pattern here.”

“You see this relationship of you and your wife and your kids as something you have to share. Like in order to start a family, you have to sacrifice some part of yourself or your marriage. But you don’t. Jake, one stems from the other. Love is like sexual plant reproduction.”

“No, please, no--”

“The plant is one thing. The male and female parts have only one stem. So when they decide to reproduce through the transfer of male gametes to female ovum, they’re not getting rid of their own stem or roots, they are just creating their own little plant that they will love and care for as one singular unit, without really giving up any part of themselves.”

Jake shakes his head. “I think you’re either very good at plant biology or very bad at metaphors, but it’s definitely not both.”

Charles put his hand on top of Jake’s. “What I’m _saying_ , Jake, is that I know you love your job, you love your daughter, and you love your wife. But you and your wife aren’t a singular unit of love like you and Amy were; you’re two totally separate entities who just happened to meet at one particular moment and now love your kid as individual plants. You don’t have shared roots. Your roots were shared with Amy, and that’s why you feel so lonely now.”

“So what I think you’re saying, Hypothetical Charles, is that if Amy and I ever did have kids…”

“You guys would have still been a unit. Just a unit plus one.”

Jake stares at Charles for a minute, then looks down and laughs. He downs his fourth beer of the night.

 _Just a unit plus one._ If only he had realized this sooner, he thought.

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter that I will post tomorrow!! Thank you so much for the comments, for the kudos, for reading this far. It really means the world to me.
> 
> I'm not always super active but feel free to hit me up on tumblr at julietknope!! requests are always happily accepted (i may not be able to complete all of them but i'll do what i can!)


	7. Unpause.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...start over? Like with someone else? I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?”
> 
> Unpause. They both come back to reality with a jolt as the echoes of the words just said finally stop ringing in their ears and the hypothetical scenarios they have run in their head come to a close. It’s just the two of them, on their one-year anniversary, on some sort of “casecation,” talking about their future.
> 
> Reality sets in.

_ “You’re still young; we have plenty of time!”  _

_ “I know, but I don’t want to wait around for two years and then you decide you don’t want kids because I don’t want to start over at 38! _

_ “...start over? Like with someone else? I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?” _

Unpause. They both come back to reality with a jolt as the echoes of the words just said finally stop ringing in their ears and the hypothetical scenarios they have run in their head come to a close. It’s just the two of them, on their one-year anniversary, on some sort of “casecation,” talking about their future. 

Reality sets in.

“Ames I really don’t want to lose you and have a daughter with some 32 year old from my apartment complex,” Jake blurts a whole lot faster than intended.

(Correction: reality  _ almost _ sets in.)

Amy scrunches her brow. “What?”

“No, sorry, I’m…” He takes a deep breath, exhales, continues. “Look, I’m terrified that my job will get in the way of being a good dad. That I’ll be gone a lot or gone entirely. I mean, the majority of the time we dated, I was either in prison, in Florida, or in a safe house. And while I certainly don’t have my father’s knack for adultery--”

“Well thank God for that,” Amy laughs softly (but also not  _ totally _ as a joke. It was a fine line to walk.)

“--but our jobs are still time consuming and I want to give you and whatever hypothetical kids everything I have. But what if I’m gone and suddenly you’re left to do all the heavy lifting and these kids are left with the notion that their father cares more about work than about them?”

Amy purses her lips. “Babe, that’s not gonna happen. We know plenty of people on the squad with kids and they make it work. Now admittedly having both of us be cops is...an added challenge. But I believe in  _ us _ .” Amy tilts her head lovingly. “Plus, if you ever have to go away for work I would make sure to tell our kids every night about what a superhero their dad is. I’ll show them  _ Die Hard  _ and say ‘look! That’s what your dad is out doing right now.’”

Jake’s eyes widen. “Amy, I love you but that is binding now. You literally have to do that. But--oh my god what if our kids don’t like  _ Die Hard _ ?!”

Amy laughs and rolls her eyes. “I think we can cross that bridge when and if we get there.”

He lowers his head and narrows his eyes. “‘If’...so like, I don’t have to give you a for sure answer today?”

His eyes are so soft and buttery that all she can do is kiss him on the lips to be reminded of his unbelievable gentility. “Jake, I’m sorry I tried to put some sort of time limit on you. This is a big decision, one that we haven’t really talked about before, and I know you have a lot of stuff weighing on you when it comes to the whole ‘kids’ conversation. I am still afraid of my internal body clock but there are also other ways to have kids-- _ our own _ kids--later, if we want to. I should have been more willing to compromise and see things from your perspective. Because sure, if we didn’t have kids, I would probably be pretty sad. But if I didn’t have you? I would be crushed.”

“You’d also probably cut your hair into a bob, if you didn’t have me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Amy scrunches her face for a moment but decides to move past it. “Point is, you, Jake Peralta, are worth any sacrifice I need to make to the life calendar. You are worth any compromise.”

Jake grins. “And you have no idea how much that means to me. But honestly? I think maybe my worry about being a good dad is what might  _ make _ me a good dad, eventually. But about you pressuring me: listen.” He places his hands gently on her shoulders and looks directly into her coffee-colored eyes. “Amy Santiago, you push me to face my fears and become a better version of myself, as cheesy as that sounds. You are one of the biggest reasons I don’t eat MayoNuts spoonsies on Thanksgiving anymore--”

“You ate one of those atrocities last week.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t Thanksgiving!” he retorts. “Look, I am all for compromise, but I admit that sometimes, I need a little push. And you are the only person right for the job. I do want kids, maybe not right this minute, but the idea of creating new life and sharing that experience with you sounds better than I could ever imagine.”

She reaches for his hands, squeezing them and holding them tight. “Without you I would probably still be some high-strung, check-list robot monster. You push me to be present in the moment and talk about things and I want that with you, forever.”

He beams. “Amy Santiago, I love you so, so much. And sure, I could become a father with just anyone, but the only person I  _ really  _ want to be a parent with is you. Because I don’t think we’re two separate plants; I think we are the same plant with the same roots that merely have male gametes and female ovum.”

“What are you saying?” she laughs.

“It was something a hypothetical Charles said, don’t worry about it,” Jake says as they make their way toward the door. She links her arm in his.

“Are you sure that was hypothetical? That sounds very much like something  _ real _ Charles would say. Also, probably something about how speaking freely about sex in the home makes children more comfortable with their own bodies later.”

“Ew!”

“Right?”

Jake hits the button to open the elevator. The door closes as they look at each other, beaming.

\------------------------

That night as Amy is sound asleep, Jake sees one last hypothetical future.

_ The only scenario of today that he really, really likes. _

Jake and Amy are taking a walk in Brooklyn Bridge Park on a spring afternoon, holding hands. The grass is green, the sky is cloudless and blue, and he can feel a cool breeze against his skin. He hears excited, playful laughter from behind, approaching quickly.

“Come catch me, come catch me!” a fifteen-year-old Nikolaj Boyle taunts.

“I’m trying, my legs are too small!”

With curly dark hair and mocha skin, he immediately recognizes to be his five-year-old son.

“Hey, wait for us!” Cagney, thirteen-years-old, carries Jake and Amy’s three-year-old daughter on her back while Lacey runs alongside them. The toddler squeals with joy.

“Hey, you guys made it!” It’s Charles, standing in front of a picnic blanket.

In front of him he sees a whole sea of people he loves against the backdrop of the Brooklyn Bridge. Iggy and Ava are off messing with Cheddar, who has decided to take a rest in the shade. Holt is talking to Jocelyn about...something (whatever it is, they seem to both be enjoying themselves at least.) Gina has pulled Nikolaj aside to talk about all the high school gossip. Jake grins.

Terry lifts Jake and Amy’s daughter off Cagney’s back in one swift motion and raises her into the air. “There’s my favorite little Santiago-Peralta girl!”

“Now me, now me!!” Their son squeals.

“Lucas, wait your turn,” Amy scolds, putting down the picnic basket in her hand. She squeezes Jake’s hand and moves to go talk to (or maybe save?) Jocelyn.

“It’s alright, I got him,” Rosa picks up the boy and places him on her hip. They both seem equally delighted.

Charles places a hand on Jake’s shoulder, walking toward the crowd. “I’ve planned the perfect afternoon. I made my favorite for everyone to share: Limburger cheese sandwiches!”

Charles opens the cooler and everyone immediately pinches their nose and groans.

“Oh my god Charles!”

“That’s so stinky, Uncle Charlie!”

And as he looks on at this scene, at his found family combining with his new, created family, he can’t imagine being anywhere else--being in any other scenario--but this.

Was the real thing going to be far messier than he was imagining? Absolutely. But as of late, his reality seemed to be far better than anything he could ever imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yayyy after several chapters of torture it's a happy ending!! yippeee) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I was def nervous posting this after being out of the fanfic game for so long, but this got SO MUCH more positive feedback than i was expecting. thank you for real
> 
> That being said, I'm really really trying to get back into writing so if you have any prompts/requests/etc you want to send my way, my inbox (julietknope on tumblr) is always open!!


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